Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
by Rosetintstheworld
Summary: In which a certain groupie and her boyfriend discover that said groupie is not all that good at rollerskating, very much to the chagrin of poor Frankie and his delicate little composure. Eddie/Columbia
1. Ch 1

For a little over a week, Frank had been in the foulest of moods to the point that literally nobody had any intention of talking to him unless it was 1000% necessary. Columbia had suggested that it was 'that time of the month' until Magenta gently reinformed the red-haired ditz that Frank was, in fact, male. Both of the servants had been avoiding him like the plague as the ebony-haired transvestite stormed about the castle swearing and bashing his head against walls, screaming abuse at anyone who was unfortunate enough to get in his way. The castle's young, human lovebirds had on the other hand seen it as a blessing in the sense that neither was required at any point for Frank's personal pleasure (his unexplained perennial pissed off-ness had affected him in the most unusual of ways, as his ridiculous libido had disappeared off the face of the planet,) leaving a lot of time for outings into the 'real world' and impromptu daytime lovemaking. The latter happened less frequently as, more often than not the Transylvanian prince turned up banging on the door demanding that they shut the fuck up - the pair of them, Eddie especially, were known to be incredibly vocal during intercourse. Anything to ease his (presently unusually delicate) composure.

Frank had been teetering on reaching the end of his tether for nine days now, and he was beginning to think that he was on the verge of calming down, until his groupie and her rockabilly boyfriend returned bearing their purchases from a journey on the ex-delivery boy's motorbike out to the local mall. Said purchases happened to include 'rollerskates', whatever the hell they were. Both earthlings seemed incredibly excited by them, so they almost definitely wouldn't interest him in the slightest. The two had ventured out in the first place with sex hair and their underwear on display, Columbia in her pyjamas and Eddie wearing his leather vest, no shirt and oil-stained jeans with what appeared to be Columbia's g-string in the pocket, which was probably proof enough that the disgusting ruffians had no consideration for anybody. He had been forced to listen to the racket that the pair made when doing pretty much anything day in and day out; Columbia's inhumanly high-pitched screeches and laughs, and Eddie singing rock n' roll songs loudly and off-key in his gravelly baritone.

He would have been perfectly content to let them have their fun - with cotton balls lodged firmly in his ears - had they done it on any one of the seven floors that he wasn't on or near, and kept him completely out of their ridiculous shenanigans. However, that somehow wasn't possible. The first mistake the two made was asking him if they wanted to join in. His response:  
"I would literally rather shit in my hands and clap."

The second mistake that he probably should have known would lead to disaster was the fact that Columbia seemed to have made the decision that the corridor adjacent to the main staircase - RIGHT IN FRONT OF the open door to the room where Frank was attempting to relax on the chaise lounge in his silk robe and pyjamas with a mimosa and a cigarette - was an appropriate location for learning how to use these infernal rollerskates.

The disaster he'd predicted came about a little after ten minutes of ridiculous noise. Not a moment after her proclaiming "I think I'm getting the hang of it!", he heard a panicked screech from Columbia, followed promptly by the assorted bangs and crashes that tended to accompany a person with wheels attached to their feet hurtling towards the bottom of a flight of wooden stairs. The noise stopped after around ten seconds, a pained groan from Columbia coming not too long afterwards. Rolling his eyes, Frank dropped his cigarette into his drink - the seeming severity of what had just happened would probably mean he would have no time to finish either. Feeling inclined to go and investigate, and perhaps offer up some sympathy if he was feeling generous enough, he shuffled out in his peach coloured feathered slippers - such things as strapless heels were not made for comfort - to find Eddie sitting on the top step, frantically trying to pull his own skates off of his feet, mumbling the word 'shit' under his breath over and over.

"What the bloody hell do you people think you're doing?" Frank growled.  
"I dunno, but we fucked up," Eddie gestured to the bottom of the stairs, where Columbia lay looking conscious, but incredibly confused.  
"And I suppose you're about to ask me to assist you in some way?"  
"Well, you are a doctor, ain't ya?"  
"Not that sort," Frank snarled, kicking off his slippers as he followed a panicking Eddie to the foot of the staircase.

* * *

"I am concussed," Columbia proclaimed as the two men reached her, Eddie dropping to his knees by her side, and Frank standing at her feet with a scowl on his face.  
"How can you possibly know that you-" Columbia promptly vomited into Eddie's lap, almost as if to make a point, before Frank could finish his sentence. He baulked.  
"I am concussed," she repeated. Still lying flat on her back, and not moving to the furthest possible extent, she glanced down towards her feet. "My ankle hurts. And I think I have a concussion."  
"You have now said that three times," Frank was fast losing his patience. "It's your own stupid fault really - could you not have gone somewhere else?"  
"In heinsight, it was a bit of a shit idea, you're right. I think I'm concussed."  
"Oh for the love of God, Columbia...I think given that Eddie is presently covered in your puke, we had deduced that you were in fact concussed quite a while ago."  
"And my ankle hurts," Columbia insisted. Frank facepalmed.  
"I hope to Christ that repetition is a side affect of concussion, because if it isn't and you're just trying to irritate me, I will kill you."

"'God's sake, Frank, have a fuckin' heart," Eddie curled his lip at the alien prince, fluffing Columbia's hair before pulling off his vomit-slicked jeans and crawling to his girlfriend's feet in his underpants, shoving Frank out of the way. Indignant, Frank snorted. "Which foot, baby?" Columbia loosely gestured to her right, and he eased off the corresponding skate. She groaned again, and Eddie grimaced when he rolled up the leg of her pyjama pants and saw the bruising and swelling that had already come about after only about ten minutes.

"D'ya think it's broken?" Columbia spoke through gritted teeth. Her face made Eddie almost afraid to touch her.  
"Looks so, doll face," he sighed, taking hold of her hand and squeezing it.  
"Oh for...how exactly would you know?" Frank scowled. He was never comfortable with seeming to be the lesser of two minds in any given situation.  
"I've broken bones in my life, I know what it looks like. Hey, I thought you 'weren't that sort' of doctor?"  
"At least I graduated high school," he sniffed, ever pretentious. "Columbia, there were a large number of things I was willing to do today - oddly enough, driving you to hospital wasn't one of them."  
"Your level of sympathy overwhelms me," a seemingly concussed and rather ticked-off Columbia was completely deadpan in her delivery of the line.  
"If it's that big an issue, I'll take her," Eddie scoffed, standing up and scooping Columbia up into his enormous arms. The groupie wrapped her arms round his neck, poking her tongue out at Frank.  
"Firstly, you can't drive. Secondly, you're putting clothes on before you go anywhere, both of you."  
"I can. Sort of. A motorcycle never hurt anyone."  
"I beg to differ," Frank mumbled.

* * *

Around three hours later, the pair returned, Eddie carrying his girl through the doors bridal-style. Columbia had her right leg in a plaster cast to her knee, and Eddie was dragging a pair of crutches that were presumably intended for her use.

Frank was dressed now, in a sheer black dress with a waterfall skirt, and suede stiletto ankle boots. He had showered, and his hair had dried straight, meaning it fell to his shoulders. He sucked on the filter of a cigarette, blowing smoke from his nose, his arms folded.

"Well?" His voice was scathing and somewhat egotistical, the way it tended to be when he wasn't completely content.  
"Bad news, and there's a lot of it, is that I broke my...I dunno what it's called; some bone in my shin that ends in -ula, and I can't tap dance for three months or something-"  
"What a shame," Frank cut in. Columbia continued as if she'd not heard him.  
"Also, I've got to wear this stupid thing for, like, six weeks, and it weighs a goddam ton. And for the entire duration of said six weeks, I can't shower or swim, and I've got to walk with these," she gestured behind her to the crutches Eddie was wielding. "And I have a 'mild concussion' - fuck you, I was right - and a huge bruise on the back of my head, so basically I just have to sleep a lot and stay in bed with my foot elevated. Good news is that the next season of 'The Brady Bunch' starts next week. Anyhow, apparently rollerskating isn't my thing."

Frank had no idea what he was supposed to make of that. All he knew was that he was almost definitely going to come close to murdering someone over the next six weeks or thereabouts. Columbia with a cold was a migraine. Hell only knows what Columbia with a broken leg was going to entail.


	2. Ch 2: When the Heart guides the Hand

"Columbia?"  
"Go away," Frank took a step back, partly out of shock at the girl's brashness, and partly to avoid impact with the cushion she had just launched at him (just because he was constantly wearing heels didn't mean he was any good at standing up in them.) Approximately seventeen and a bit hours following her little...accident, Columbia had barely shifted an inch unless it was to use the bathroom or obtain food, and the poor thing was feeling very sorry for herself indeed. "Frankie, I'm tryna sleep here."  
"This I am aware of; however, Eddie said that, per the doctor's instructions, you were to be woken every few hours if your intention is sleeping off your concussion. Magenta got you up at seven this morning; it's presently midday, thus here I am. Simply doing my duty to our live-in temporary invalid."  
"Fair enough. Well, I'm awake now, so you can fuck off and let me go back to sleep again."

"Well, that's not very nice, Collie; I was only trying to help you," Frank pouted, sitting on his groupie's bed by her side. She had her back to him, but he ran his fingers through her hair nonetheless in an attempt at showing unrequited affection. He leaned over her and planted a quick kiss on her cheekbone, smearing his lipstick down her face. "I'm sorry, Columbia, have I upset you? Are you okay?"

She turned herself to face him (he could see it required more effort for her than it had any right to whatsoever) her expression one which totally embodied the phrase 'pissed off'. Her hair had lost any sort of gravitational concept whatsoever and was sticking up in tufts all over the place. A great, flowering purple bruise had come out on her right cheek; her eyes were hazy and reddened - it seemed that, whilst she had still been in bed, not an awful lot of sleeping had been done. He guessed that she must have been in more pain than he had guessed previously. She appeared to be wearing underpants, one of Eddie's unwashed and consequently rather unpleasant-smelling t-shirts and not a lot else, her right foot - the one in a cast - propped on a heap of cushions that Magenta had scavenged from around the house in an attempt at making the girl more comfortable. "Really? Are you honestly asking me that question now?"

"I apologize," Frank decided to humor how pedantic she was being. "Aside from the mild concussion and spiral-fractured fibula, are you okay?"  
"No," she grumped, sticking out her bottom lip.  
"Aww, poor baby," Frank cooed, with a sympathetic grimace on his meticulously made-up face. "Do you want a cuddle?"  
"No, I want ice cream and sleep."

"Ah, spurned again," Frank lamented dramatically, one hand on his forehead. This managed to get the smallest of laughs out of his incapacitated groupie.  
"Frank, go away," Columbia moaned after the transvestite made another playful advance on her, sticking his tongue in her ear. "If you think you're getting any sex out of this cripple today, then you have another thing coming."  
"Oh Collie sweetheart, I simply wanted to make sure you were okay. Cheer you up a little, perhaps. What makes you think I-"  
"I've met you, Frankie. I've got all the evidence I need."  
"Columbia, really...what must you think of me?"  
"I did all my judging when I walked in on Riff going down on you in the bathroom - currently I'm making logical assumptions."

"Fair enough," a laugh played about Frank's voice as his face unwittingly cracked into a flawlessly lipsticked smile. "Are you feeling any better?"  
"Slightly," she raised one drawn-on eyebrow - how or when she had applied these he did not know, as she had hardly moved since yesterday. "Where's Eddie?"  
"He went out to go and get something; that's about all he told me. You are very lucky indeed to have him, you know."  
"Well, he's never exactly been mine, so-"  
"Oh, learn to share, sweetest. You earthlings place such ludicrous values on sex and commitment."  
"I love you, and I fucking hate it," Columbia snarked, pulling the transvestite's permed hair.  
"Love you too, darling," he stood up to leave, moving unusually gracefully on his long legs and high heels. Dimming the light as he left the room, he blew a kiss to the pink-haired cutie. "I guess I'll leave you to go back to bed again. Get well soon, Collie."


End file.
